


Some Kind of Love

by WerewolvesAreReal



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Five Year Mission, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Queerplatonic Relationships, This is 6k of cuddling I have no excuses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:35:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26550748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WerewolvesAreReal/pseuds/WerewolvesAreReal
Summary: Everyone says it's inappropriate to touch Vulcans, but Kirk finds boundaries blurring as he gets closer to Spock.
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Spock
Comments: 28
Kudos: 365
Collections: All Time Favourites





	Some Kind of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Includes references to a few episodes, most notably The Apple

It's rude to touch Vulcans.

Everyone knows that. Starfleet has a thick guide detailing basic information on different Federation members, and the section on Vulcans includes this fact half a dozen times. Starfleet's sexual harassment policies have a pointed addendum stating that Vulcans should never be touched at all, anywhere, _ever,_ unless there's an emergency involved.

Captain Kirk, despite being a fairly tactile man, always tries to be mindful of other cultures. When he first came upon the Enterprise he was always careful to keep a respectful personal distance from his new First Officer. Even when he saw that Spock was a bit more lax than other Vulcans he's worked with – probably a result of working among humans for twenty-odd years – he didn't want to presume.

But Kirk couldn't help but notice that Spock seemed very comfortable with other members of the crew. When Uhura sat down in the rec room and asked about his Vulcan harp, he guided her fingers to the strings as he explained the music. When an ensign tripped over his own feet walking down the hall – red-faced, embarrassed – Spock paused to extend a hand. Apparently, he never received that _don't touch the Vulcans_ memo.

So maybe that's why Kirk finds himself slipping, more and more, as time passes. He's asked Spock, of course, to tell him if Kirk ever oversteps the boundaries of their friendship. (It's an accomplishment that Spock admits there _is_ a friendship.) Spock always promises he will, but Kirk has the sneaking suspicion that Spock would endure a great many trials for him – his unwavering loyalty can be equal parts humbling and exasperating.

So he reminds himself to be mindful after he claps Spock on the shoulder on the bridge. When he leans down to look at something at the science station, steadying himself against Spock's arm. When he nudges the bemused Vulcan, forgetting himself, during a dull diplomatic dinner.

Spock never seems to mind, but Vulcans are deliberately difficult to parse. For all Kirk knows his first officer loathes and resents each absent-minded touch. But he doesn't think so, because occasionally – rarely – Spock is the one to reach out and catch his wrist when he wants to say something. Or touch his elbow, briefly, moving around his captain in the hall. Unnecessary contact - and Kirk doubts Spock does anything without deliberation.

But maybe he's overthinking things. After two decades in the service it's not odd that Spock's picked up a few human habits. It doesn't mean anything, but at least Kirk doesn't have to feel like a rude neanderthal if he lets their fingers brush exchanging reports. And as their friendship grows, Kirk becomes more comfortable forgetting himself.

Maybe too comfortable, he learns roughly a year into their mission.

* * *

After destroying Vaal the Enterprise remains in orbit above Gamma Trianguli VI. They hastily organize a team of people to help educate the native tribe and prepare them to live through their own skills, rather than the manipulation of a machine-god. Kirk, Spock, McCoy, and experts in agriculture and anthropology spend three hours discussing the needs of the tribe and selecting educators.

McCoy disappears into Sickbay but sends down nurses laden with anatomical charts and notes on basic medical techniques. Kirk and Spock return to the bridge for the remainder of that shift, surveying the ship's damage from Vaal's tractor beams and the resulting engine strain. Scotty will be working overtime for a week trying to repair the damage and coax the Enterprise back to full power, so they'll have plenty of time to linger and help the planet, at least.

At the end of shift Kirk notices Spock limping toward the turbolift.

He sidles in after, quiet due to the presence of Yeoman Owens and Mr. Salisbury. He waits until they depart on the next deck before speaking. “Are you sure you shouldn't be in Sickbay, Spock?”

“I am perfectly well, Captain.”

“You were poisoned, zapped by a shield, got a fist fight, and then hit by lightning,” says Kirk. It was an eventful away-mission by any standards, but the list sounds worse aloud. “You know, it's alright to take it easy awhile.”

“Dr. McCoy would certainly have informed me if I were unfit for duty,” Spock reminds him. Which is perfectly true.

Nevertheless Kirk shadows him to the officer's lounge, insisting on collecting both their meals. Spock endures this with an air of long-suffering Kirk politely ignores.

“Why don't you take tomorrow off,” he suggests. “We were down on that planet nearly a full day anyway...”

Spock side-eyes him, picking at his meal with prim, tiny bites. “That is unnecessary.”

Kirk presses his lips together. “Well, at least tell me you won't go near those explosive rock-samples – they already got you once.” It's mostly a joke, but Spock doesn't acknowledge him. “And it might be best not to visit the village yourself.”

No reply. Spock keeps eating.

After a moment Kirk adds, quiet, apologetic, “I suppose we shouldn't have teased you after – and not just because of the mission. I'm sorry about that.”

Spock continues to ignore him.

“...Are you alright?”

After a long silence Spock finally looks up. Blinks. “I apologize, Captain – did you say something?”

Kirk stares. “Yes. I did. You weren't paying attention, Spock?”

“My hearing is slightly impaired at the moment,” Spock admits.

Kirk processes that. “You're going to Sickbay,” he decides. Spock's shoulders slump; it's impressive how pitiful he manages to look without changing expression.

McCoy is not pleased when they arrive, he's sure to call Spock a 'self-sacrificing idiot' for not mentioning the hearing problems sooner. He also presses some pain medication onto Spock – who apparently denied it earlier, stating the inevitable nausea would interfere with his work – and instructs him to report “ _anything_ odd you might feel over the next few days – especially if it might be related to the nervous system. I can't find a single thing wrong in your scans.”

“If there is nothing - “

“That doesn't mean there's nothing to find. Lightning is some kinda black magic, Spock – getting hit is too rare for doctors to have enough precedents, and a lot of the cases are different.”

“In short, you have no useful information.”

“I can tell you that lightning strikes often cause _brain damage._ I mean it – report any problems. Go get some rest.”

Naturally, Kirk expects him to do so. So he's surprised when Spock offers to complete their mission reports together. After a moment of thought he agrees; otherwise Spock will doubtlessly just work alone, and at least Kirk can keep an eye on him this way.

It turns out that there's a reason for Spock's unusual sociability. Just as Kirk's dotting the last i's, Spock turns and asks whether he really believes the followers of Vaal can prosper, after centuries – perhaps millenia – under the direction of an omniscient computer.

“Well, no society has a guarantee of success,” Kirk points out.

“The population of Gamma Trianguli VI had precisely that,” Spock says. “Their society was totally peaceful prior to our visit. They did not know hunger, pain, death, or violence - “

“Or love, freedom - “

“Perhaps. Is it your place, captain, to decide whether an alien culture's highest values are worth less than your own?”

Sensing Spock's seriousness, Kirk sets aside his work. “Starfleet would say no,” he admits. “We all vow to obey the Prime Directive – but those people were already tampered with, Spock.”

“One might as easily say the Preservers 'tampered' with humanity,” says Spock. “Yet surely you would agree that it was right for outside forces to let Earth proceed at its own pace of technological and social advancement.”

“But these people weren't advancing. You think Adam and Eve should have stayed in the garden forever?”

Unimpressed: “In your biblical stories, Eve was offered a choice, Captain. The metaphor is not appropriate.”

“It's a moot point.”

“I do not see how. In the future...”

“I can't say how I'd act in a similar situation,” says Kirk honestly. “What I do know, Spock, is that this robot-god of theirs was ready to bring down the _Enterprise_ and burn her up in atmosphere. So it's a moot point. I won't weigh the philosophical, debatable happiness of a few dozen people against more than four-hundred lives.”

Spock leans back – evidently deciding he won't win that argument. But the furrow along his brow makes Kirk think this won't be the last he hears of this.

Kirk veers from the fraught subject in favor of something else he's been wondering. “Do you have any idea how Vaal kept them _safe?_ That planet is a deathtrap.”

“Yet another reason that our interference was unwise,” says Spock, of course. Kirk stifles a sigh. “No, Sir – but I have tasked our teams on the planet with making that knowledge a priority. And, of course, they have been... cautioned about the dangers outside the main village.”

“Like poisoned flowers, freak storms, landmines - “

“Indeed.”

“It's really a miracle there weren't more injuries.” He notices Spock wincing as he rises to get a fresh cup of tea. Frowning, Kirk stands. “Maybe you should get some rest, Spock.”

“My report is almost complete.”

“It can wait. I've moved your shift back tomorrow.”

“That is not necessary - “

Despite himself, Kirk feels his lips tugging into a smile. “Again, you're allowed to take things easy after getting by by _lightning,_ Spock. It's not a crime to get injured.” Fondly, and without thinking, he tugs Spock, wrapping one arm over him in fond half-embrace.

Spock freezes, holding his shoulders rigid under this grip.

“Sorry,” says Kirk, pulling back after a moment. He coughs. “I didn't mean to, ah. Make you uncomfortable.”

“...I am not uncomfortable,” says Spock, blatantly lying.

Kirk clasps his arm instead; Spock looks down at this point of contact like he's a baffling scientific anomaly. “Go get some rest,” he advises.

For a moment he wonders if his friend has gone deaf again. After a long moment Spock nods, leaving without another word.

Kirk hopes he feels better. Sitting down, he rubs at his temple.

He wishes that Spock could stop making such damn good points. Sighing, he pulls out a datapadd and starts listing materials and equipment to leave with the tribe of Vaal.

* * *

Kirk finds himself thinking of that mission – and the way Spock froze under his touch, something shocked and a little vulnerable about his eyes – when the Minister of Beta Centauri greets the pair of them in the traditional way.

That is, by kissing Kirk more passionately than any of his last three lovers. Then Minister Reynalds turns to Spock, apparently not noticing the Vulcan's tension.

“Excuse me,” Kirk interjects, repressing the urge to wipe a hand over his mouth. McCoy would bemoan the terrible hygiene of this people right about now; he really doesn't think the tongue was necessary. “I hope, Minister, that you don't mind if my First Officer refrains from your... traditional greetings. His people avoid physical contact whenever possible. This would be an appropriate greeting instead.”

Smiling tightly, he raises his hand in a rather poor approximation of the Vulcan salute. Spock copies the motion – more eloquently – and nods toward Reynalds. Though Spock often just endures local customs, this a fairly common spiel, and most foreign dignitaries are perfectly happy to accept this explanation.

Minister Reynalds does not look happy. In fact his whole entourage goes very, very still, and Kirk immediately knows he's done something wrong.

“He avoids... physical contact?” asks the aide by the minister's side.

“Yes.”

“Always?”

“Yes.”

Kirk doesn't think it should be that difficult to understand. Their briefing made it clear that the locals are rather tactile, but surely they must have exceptions.

“So you do not touch him?” asks Minister Reynalds, slowly. “Is he so contemptible to you? Is he a criminal?”

“What? No, Mr. Spock's species just - “

“His _species?_ Are they very violent, or unsociable?”

“The opposite,” Kirk tries to assure. But the local retinue stirs restlessly, whispering to each other and eyeing Spock. “Vulcans prefer not to touch others - “

“Those who disdain the touch of friends are violent. We cannot permit such a presence,” says the Minister ominously.

Kirk will later blame panic on his next actions. “I think there's been a misunderstanding,” he says, forcing a smile. At _some_ point Federation diplomats will have to investigate this cultural clash and clarify that the native can't threaten violence against people who refuse to hug them, please - but Kirk's job is first contact, and his primary goal is to avoid situations from escalating to hostility.

Even at the expense of dignity.

“Mr. Spock is just – very shy,” he clarifies. Spock raises an affronted eyebrow. “But I'm sure he'll be more comfortable with your, ah, usual gestures of greeting once we know each other better.”

The minister's party still looks suspicious, so on impulse, Kirk turns and kisses his first officer on the cheek.

Up goes the other eyebrow. But the egregious aliens, of course, see nothing strange with this gesture. “...Then I look forward to the day we all become such good friends,” the minister declares at last, rewarding Kirk for his hubris by giving _him_ another loud kiss on the side of his mouth.

Well. He probably deserved that.

Spock shoots him a pointed look. Kirk smiles sheepishly. That wasn't exactly his most professional move. And now the aliens cluster around Spock, even more hopefully handsy than before, as though vying for the title of 'friend'.

Kirk has to learn to control himself and think these things through. He certainly could have handled this situation better – new scenarios occur to him every second – and there are definitely methods of de-escalation that would have been less invasive for his First Officer. He won't overreach again, he promises himself. However strong the impulse.

* * *

Except he does, in fact, do it again.

And the next time, he doesn't even have the excuse of adrenaline or high emotions. He can't even blame the requirements of duty for what happens.

After testing the M-5 system the _Enterprise_ computers need to be swept and repaired. Spock works long hours for a few days, so Kirk is surprised to be invited to a game of chess. When he asks if Spock wouldn't rather be sleeping, Spock just replies, “I would prefer your company tonight.”

It's hard to argue with that.

So they play a few games in Spock's quarters. The warmth stifles – for once Spock hasn't adjusted the temperature controls. Kirk finds himself tugging at his uniform, reluctant to show his own discomfort when Spock practically radiates fatigue. The Vulcan keeps one elbow propped on the table as they play – an unusually informal lapse – and his head leans against a raised fist. Occasionally, when Kirk spends too long deliberating on a move, he looks up to find Spock's eyes fluttering suspiciously.

It's almost unbearable looking at him. When Kirk was a child his mother used to say that he wore his heart in the open, that he loved too much – and maybe she was right. The warm cloud of fondness in his chest is so strong it maddens him.

When Kirk is restless, he exercises in the rec rooms. When he's tired, he sleeps; when he's lonely, he finds people to socialize. But he doesn't know how to safely expunge this feeling. And god knows Spock would be uncomfortable if Kirk suddenly thanks him for his friendship – verbalizes how honored he still feels, sometimes, to know that such a man holds Kirk in equal regard.

The next time Spock closes his eyes, Kirk stands. He reaches down to cradle Spock's head, pulling him away from that precarious arm slipping off the table. Spock opens his eyes, only blinking when Kirk brushes a kiss against the side of his hair. “You should sleep, Spock,” he says quietly. “We can finish the game tomorrow.”

“...Yes, Captain,” says Spock after a moment. He doesn't look so surprised this time. Something about the way he looks up at Kirk is so warm, so trusting, that it makes that ember of fondness burn brighter.

So, of course, Kirk has to kiss him again before excusing himself for the night.

* * *

It doesn't change anything.

Spock still expresses no discomfort – and Kirk knows that he's pushed a lot of physical boundaries over the years, but he has to believe Spock would tell him if he presumes too far. He has before, actually; goodness knows Spock will become downright snippy when Kirk tries to bulldoze past his _emotional_ boundaries. So maybe it's a bit selfish for Kirk to touch him so much – but more and more Spock _returns_ those touches, too. Leaning against him on the bridge, brushing a hand against Kirk's shoulder before pointing out something interesting. So he can't mind that much.

And Kirk has always known he can be selfish.

Two weeks after leaving Triacus he finds Spock researching alone in Science Lab 9. Spock is, in fact, so engrossed in this work that he doesn't look up when the door opens; Kirk pauses to lean against one of the tables, admiring the Vulcan's efficient movements and trying to figure out whether he's being ignored or if Spock genuinely doesn't realize he's here.

Eventually Spock turns; the way he stiffens is enough answer. “Captain. Did you require something?”

There's nothing in his tone that conveys _embarrassment,_ exactly. Kirk finds himself smiling anyway. “Just noticed the lights on, Spock. What's so interesting that you're working alone during off-duty hours?”

The tension fades as Spock describes his latest experiment. Kirk tries to listen, he really does – anything that makes Spock this animated is probably interesting. But he's too distracted by Spock quick, controlled gestures – indications of an excitement brimming past his tight controls.

When Spock offers to show a sample under the microscope, Kirk pushes away from the wall to come to his side. Leaning over to look, placing an unconscious hand at Spock's back, he has to resist the impulse to pull him closer.

For a brief second Spock seems to sink against his side, looking up at Kirk with crinkling eyes. If Bones were here he'd be making accusations of _emotion_.

Then the door opens. Kirk steps back.

It might be his imagination – but he thinks Spock looks disappointed, too.

* * *

“What do you think of your accommodations, Captain Kirk?”

“Very welcoming,” Kirk lies. He, Spock, and McCoy recently spent half an hour puzzling over the room's hammock-like bedding, and a further ten minutes trying to figure out the confusing system of pipes in the corner of their shared room before giving up. “Thank you, Ambassador.”

Ambassador M'zTey preens as a passing server hands Kirk a glass of some fizzing orange liquid. It smells vaguely like waffles; Kirk holds it away from his face, fixing on a smile as the Ambassador says, “The city here takes great pride in its artistic achievements. You know, this entire building was made by a very famous architect a few centuries ago, who was much inspired by marine life - “

Kirk makes various noises of interest as M'zTey rambles about coral reef formations, wondering vaguely if some of the odd fixtures in his quarters are meant to be 'artistic.' That would explain something. As the Ambassador speaks he absently glances around the rest of the room, automatically looking for his crew.

It's a rather relaxed event – a celebration of a treaty-signing, the sort of mission that was more of an afterthought than anything. _Oh look,_ some Admiral at headquarters must have decided last week, _the Enterprise is in this area – let's send them over to attend the signing and make it seem like we're invested._

Not that Kirk minds. The crew needs some easy missions every now and then. Diplomatic events come with their own form of stress, but at least the most he has to worry about here is accidentally insulting their host, rather than getting someone killed.

Across the room he notes Uhura playing court with half a dozen admirers – the amiable lieutenant always manages to attract a crowd. Sulu sits tucked away in a corner chatting with a quiet couple; Kirk might have to drag him away if the man refuses to circulate soon. Sulu has a tendency to get comfortable at events like this, but they're still working. Chekov is talking to very tall man who gesticulates wildly with each word, oblivious to Chekov's miserable glances at a pretty woman nearby. All the better – Chekov _also_ sometimes needs a reminder that he doesn't get invited to planet-side events for his own recreation. McCoy seems to be arguing with the local Head of Medicine, which is – probably fine. Kirk might go over in a few minutes to make sure it's not a _real_ argument. And Spock...

Where is Spock?

Realizing that M'zTey has asked a question, Kirk takes a hasty swig of his drink and almost chokes; despite the smell it tastes like meat-broth. “You'll have to excuse me,” says Kirk after a moment where he desperately tries to remember what the ambassador asked. “I've just remembered that I was meant to meet one of my officers, but I'd be delighted to answer your questions another time, Sir.”

Fortunately the ambassador doesn't seem offended. “Of course.”

He takes a minute to introduce the man to Chekov (who sags sullenly, but manages some decent conversation.) Then he weaves through the crowded hall looking for a glimpse of dress-blues.

After a few wasted minutes he makes inquiries of McCoy and Uhura, and gets lucky; the latter saw Mr. Spock leaving the hall

Kirk eventually finds him in the gardens outside, standing off the main path and pretending to inspect a spindly purple plant.

And he is _pretending_ to look at it. As though grasping at any excuse to stay away from the crowds inside.

“Noise too much?” asks Kirk, stepping up by his side.

“No worse than many functions on the Enterprise,” Spock evades.

Kirk makes a mental note to pay more attention to Spock at future shipwide events, because that wasn't a 'no.' “Is it too loud? Or is it your telepathy.”

Spock pointedly does not say. The latter, then.

“I will return to the event shortly, Captain. You do not need to remain here.”

“Is it worse than on the Enterprise? The briefing stated that they have about as much psi-potential as the average human.”

“They are not telepaths,” Spock corrects. “They simply have very... _loud_ minds.”

“Is it painful?”

Spock's hesitation is enough answer, even if he says, “I would not describe it as such.”

Kirk presses his lips together. “Return to the ship. I'll make your excuses.”

“That is not necessary, Captain - “

“That's an order, Mister. I'll tell them you got food poisoning – god knows half of what they serve doesn't seem compatible with humans anyway, much less Vulcans. I'll talk to you when the event is over.”

It's a testament to how bad his First Officer feels that Spock stops protesting. Still, Kirk waits patiently until Spock's called the ship and disappeared in a blaze of blue light. He wouldn't put it past Spock to try and sneak back into the main hall; anybody who says Vulcans _always follow orders_ has never met one.

The celebration lasts another two hours. Kirk beams up with the rest of the party at the end; most of them are a little tipsy by that point, but Lieutenant Martha inquires after Spock. She's satisfied with Kirk's vague explanation that he had to return early.

He's surprised to find Spock waiting in Kirk's quarters when he arrives.

Spock still looks tired and pained, though it would take someone who knows him to notice; the tension is only visible in a thin furrow between his brows, a certain stiffness to the way his neck moves to turn toward Kirk. “Sir,” he acknowledges.

“Something wrong?” asks Kirk, striding inside. He's already going through a mental list of possible issues with the ship, and is a bit surprised when Spock shakes his head.

“I just wanted to ensure there were no issues, Sir.”

Perfectionist. “Can't stand the idea we were having fun without you?” Kirk teases, pulling off his shirt and rustling around for his sleepwear. “My, Mr. Spock. I didn't realize you were so nosy.”

Spock _huffs,_ which only makes Kirk grin wider. “This mission is of great importance to the Federation - “

“No, it's not. The briefing they gave us misspelled the planet name twice.”

“...Nevertheless, I do not care to be negligent.”

“Well, everything has gone fine so far,” Kirk promises. Spock somehow manages to exude guilt without a single twitch of explanation, so Kirk pauses to squeeze his arm. Looks closer. “Is your head still bothering you?”

“My _head_ is fine.”

“Your telepathy, then.” One day Spock will realizes he's not actually subtle. Kirk reaches out, stroking gently over Spock's cheekbone, where he knows Vulcans possess sensitive psi-connections.

Spock's wide eyes remind him of the circumstances; Kirk snatches back his hand. “Sorry,” he apologizes. “I don't mean to make it worse.”

“...You do not,” says Spock, still looking faintly shocked. Which might be why he adds, “It is pleasant. When it's you.”

After a beat Spock glances away; Kirk tries not to look pleased. “Alright,” he says, not wanting to embarrass his First. But the warmth in his chest becomes overwhelming; on impulse he leans forward, brushing a soft kiss to Spock's cheek.

But this time, Kirk finds that the gesture isn't enough. His heart still aches; he holds Spock close by the neck, pressing their heads together, and it's _still_ not enough.

“Does this help,” he asks, past all the things bursting in his throat.

“...Yes. Your mind is – familiar.”

“Good.” So he tugs Spock down into the large chair by his bed.

It's not really meant for two people. Spock ends up almost in his lap, very stiff for a minute. Then it's as though he makes the executive decision to relax – his whole body easing, shoulders slumped. He curls up to press his forehead to Kirk's neck as though he's an icepack.

Kirk doesn't try to coax him into speech. Instead he starts talking about the interesting architecture from the planet below, carefully constructing his ideas as though forming a report. Either Spock gets distracted listening, or just appreciates the excuse; he soon curls even more closely into Kirk's side, and the next time Kirk looks down, he sees that Spock is asleep.

Well, that's one way to ease the pain. It's too bad, Kirk thinks, that Spock doesn't have a mental bond with anyone on this ship. He's heard those bonds can really help Vulcans endure high-density social situations.

* * *

A few weeks later the _Enterprise_ halts and confiscates an illegal smuggler's shuttle full of illicit goods – everything from Romulan ale and Enolian spice wine to bio-mimetic gel, not to mention dozens of unidentifiable bits of merchandise no doubt similarly banned. At some point one of the security team hunting through the grimy shuttle must pick up a hitchhiker, because the ship is soon afterwards infested with a stubborn, fast-acting fungus that seems to grow straight out of duranium and leaves stubborn grayish stains wherever it's peeled away from the ship's hull.

Dealing with this irritating issue leaves Kirk working overtime – there's a brief concern that the fungus might prove dangerous, but ultimately, nothing happens.

Kirk has never liked any type of fungus. If asked he'd say that he just doesn't like the concept of parasitic lifeforms. But he still remembers Tarsus, and the decay that stole their food, killed thousands. Of course he's not going to let bad memories affect his work, but he's not totally surprised when Spock – perceptive as ever – hovers nearby through the whole mess, insisting on completing reports together at the end – as though either of them will have issues about the uncomplicated paperwork.

But he accepts the offer. And Kirk's frustrated, halfway through the work, to receive a brusque communique from Admiral Belan instructing the _Enterprise_ to skip their anticipated shore leave and head toward a new mission.

Frustrated, Kirk exits the screen on his padd with a jab that makes the delicate machinery _crack._ Groaning, he slumps back against the thin, hard-backed standard sofa. Rolls out a crick in his neck.

It's going to be that sort of night, is it.

“Jim?” Spock prompts from his side.

Spock rarely addresses him by name. Sometimes he wields the word like a weapon; it seems impossible that he doesn't know how it makes Kirk soften.

“Just bad orders,” he sighs. “It's nothing urgent.”

“Perhaps you should rest, Sir.”

“Let's just finish these papers.”

When he opens his eyes again Spock's still studying him. Much more careful than compared to Kirk's callous abuse of his padd, Spock sets his equipment aside and moves closer. Clasps his hands together. He looks so endearingly solemn that Kirk finds himself smiling a little by reflex.

“You are distressed by the recent contamination to this ship,” Spock informs him, like Kirk might not have noticed. He wonders if that's a problem with Vulcans, not recognizing their own emotional motivations when their controls lapse.

“I know,” Kirk says. “It'll pass. Don't you ever have bad moods?”

Spock regards him blankly. Right.

Kirk reaches out and squeezes his arm. Leaves his hand there, rubbing with his thumb. If he were feeling a bit more maudlin he might say that the warmth – this feel of solid, living flesh under his hands – shields him against the memories of shivering bodies and emaciated children. “I appreciate the company. But you don't need to stay.”

Spock moves closer instead of leaving. Stubborn, as always. Kirk finds himself wrapping an arm around his back without even thinking about it. “Sir. I believe you may not be an accurate judge of your fitness in this instance.”

“Spock, I just – don't want to talk about it.”

For a moment it seems like Spock is going to say something. He weighs Kirk with a piercing gaze, like he's a puzzle needing to be fit together. Or a delicate experiment, maybe. Do _this,_ and you'll solve electric problems for the whole quadrant – do _that,_ and we all die. Kirk resigns himself to more questioning.

Instead, Spock suddenly shifts around and lays his head on Kirk's shoulder.

Kirk doesn't twitch – not even through the initial tingle of shock, breathlessness. He remembers vividly a long-past summer in Iowa, where on one overcast day he'd coaxed a finch into sitting on his leg. It left him still and breathless, convinced that any sudden movement would startle the bird into flying away.

Spock doesn't say anything. After awhile, Kirk returns to writing the report. Spock seems content to watch over his arm.

Somehow, even in silence, the companionship helps. It takes Kirk about twenty minutes after Spock finally leaves – nearly two hours later – to realize how effectively that single moment of affection distracted him from brooding.

His First Officer really can play him like a fiddle.

* * *

Afterward, it happens more often.

Only when they're alone. Walking together on an alien world, Spock reaches out and takes him by hand to show Kirk an odd rock formation. On the observation deck, alone at night, he steps close and presses their arms watching a passing comet. Together, alone in Kirk's quarters, he'll come inside just to sit silently as they each work, sharing space.

And of course, the number of times that Kirk initiates contact probably couldn't be counted.

No, that's a lie. Spock probably has the exact data in the back of his head. But Kirk never asks. It's not really something they discuss.

On a survey mission Spock, Kirk, and McCoy beam down to an isolated patch of desert to search for a medicinally interesting plant McCoy wants to study. After an hour of collecting a sandstorm sends them back to camp, where they huddle under a thin Starfleet-issue tent until the howling wind stops. With the interference clear they could beam aboard, but Spock points out that they might as well finish the collection process while they're still here.

McCoy stomps away from the tent to shake sand out of his boots, muttering. Spock seems utterly unfazed by the hot air and swirling dust motes, but it's funny to see him so ruffled in appearance. Kirk reaches out to comb sand from his hair. “I don't think this is regulation, Science Officer,” he says gravely, tugging a strand. Sand flakes away, vanishing rapidly.

“I am only emulating my superior,” comes the equally solemn reply. Kirk laughs, knowing he probably looks much worse.

He keeps his hand raised a moment, brushing his palm against Spock's cheek. Spock regards him with warm eyes. In the desert heat his skin feels hot, burning – alive. They're standing close enough for their breath to mingle, and for a moment Kirk wonders if Spock misses the deserts of Vulcan. Wonders if his eyes would always shine like this, back on that red-sunned planet of his birth. And he feels such a rush of fondness that he thinks Spock _must_ be able to feel it through the touch of their skin.

When he steps away he finds that Bones has finished airing his boots. The doctor just stands there, tricorder held limp in one hand, watching them.

“Something wrong?” Kirk wonders.

“No. Uh.” McCoy raises the tricorder. “Looks like we need to head southeast to find those plants, unless we want to dig some out through this sand.”

“Southeast it is,” says Kirk cheerfully. Spock moves to finish packing away the portable tent. “Let's head out.”

“...Yeah, alright,” says McCoy.

The doctor doesn't talk much the rest of the mission. But he does send them a lot of odd looks.

* * *

Kirk knows about the rumors.

He's never sure if they started because of his reputation or because his friendship with Spock defies all stereotypes about Vulcans. Or maybe it's just them. Kirk can't help it if his eyes follow Spock during quiet hours on the bridge. And sure, it's odd for a Vulcan to tolerate even the small public touches Kirk unthinkingly gives – a hand on the shoulders, a touch on the arm. But it's still strange that so many people _assume,_ isn't it?

He thinks about this while Spock half-dozes against his chest. Above them the dimmed lights glow softly, illuminating them both in pale shadows. The computer's measured voice reads _A Tale of Two Cities_ aloud over the room's speakers. This is the sixth night they've listened together, and usually each section is followed by a quiet chat– most often diverging easily into discussions of earth and Vulcan and the storied histories of both.

Kirk was the one to convince Spock to listen to the first chapter, as part of an argument about the merits of pre-Contact literature. But Spock is the one who stayed for the second chapter, and curled against his side to hear the third. He's also the one who hinted that he might listen to the rest in his quarters the night after, if Kirk cared to join him...

It's not the way Kirk would spend an evening with Bones. Or Scotty. Or... anyone, really. But somehow it seems natural for them.

He raises a hand, brushing Spock's hair away from his face. Spock half-opens one eye, registering the gesture, then presses his face back to Kirk's chest.

Of course, Kirk also isn't in the habit of curling up in bed with other friends. That might be a bit more relevant than the audiobook.

After a few more minutes it seems that Spock's fallen asleep, so he quietly instructs the computer to stop reading.

Spock stirs, muttering, “That is an illogical place to stop.”

Kirk stifles a smile. “Oh?”

“The end of the chapter would be better.”

“You really can't stand cliffhangers, can you.”

“...That is not the point.”

Kirk laughs.

Unfortunately, the talk seems to make Spock more alert. He sits up properly. Kirk can't exactly miss the weight, or the heat – in deference to Spock's physiology, his rooms are currently just shy of sweltering – but he still watches with disappointed resignation as Spock tugs his hair and shirt into place.

Before he can reconsider Kirk touches his arm. “Can you stay a bit longer? There's something I've wanted to ask you.”

Spock agrees immediately; of course he does. Then he sits cross-legged on the sofa across from Kirk, looking at him expectantly.

Which means Kirk needs to think of something to say.

“...You should leave the Enterprise,” is what comes out of his mouth.

Spock jolts, visibly startled, and he realizes how that sounds. “I'm sorry – what I meant is that, after the mission is over – Admiral Belan is already talking about promoting you. You really should accept, Spock.”

Some of the tension drains from Spock's shoulders. This, at least, is familiar ground. “I have been offered promotion twice, Sir. I do not desire it.”

“I know. But it doesn't look good on your record.”

Spock gives him the look of haughty condescension that terrorizes the dreams of baby scientists everywhere. “I believe my research record is sufficient to quell any complaints, Sir. I am a scientist. It is illogical to think that I must accept unnecessary command-promotions to remain useful.”

 _As if Starfleet would_ dare _get rid of me,_ says his body language.

Kirk finds himself laughing a little. “Well,” he says. “I suppose that's true.”

He half-expects Spock to leave. Instead, Spock studies him. “...Was there something else troubling you, Sir?”

“No, no. I'm in an odd mood, I suppose.”

Spock tilts his head, bird-like.

“That wasn't an invitation to call McCoy,” Kirk adds. “I'm fine, Spock. I was just thinking about the end of this mission, I suppose... It won't be too long now.”

“I, also, have contemplated our future at the end of this mission,” says Spock at last. “It is of course too early to make plans, but – I wonder how things will change.”

Spock is always very precise.

 _Our_ future, he said.

“You don't want a promotion,” Kirk murmurs.

“No, Sir. I would prefer to remain with you.”

Kirk takes his hand and leans over, pressing a single, lingering kiss against Spock's jaw. This is so common now that Spock doesn't twitch – just watches him with softening eyes.

Some people in the Federation will always maintain that Vulcans don't feel. It boggles his mind sometimes.

“Wherever we go, we'll find a way to do it together,” Kirk promises.

Oddly enough, it's in this moment – looking at this man he loves, a man from another world, another culture entirely - that Kirk finally realizes how people can live their entire lives without ever stepping foot off the earth. Some things are greater than the stars and the sky, more vital than those quiet and cold moments in space. And maybe this is all it takes to be content – the right person at your side, and a loyalty that never fades.

He doesn't know where they'll be in a few years, but he's suddenly sure they'll take those steps together.


End file.
